AN UNEXPECTED DEATH.
Charles having reached the station, taken the train to Waterville
in response to the telegram, and when he reached there taken a
carriage and was driven to the residence of Marshall Bangs, he found
the decaying invalid sitting on a sofa in his bed-room; he had just
recovered from a fainting spell, and he had recovered only to be the
more weak. He was standing on the lawn before his house talking with
a friend when he suddenly fell to the ground. He did not recover
consciousness until evening, and nearly the first wish he expressed
was a desire to see his friend and partner, Charles Taylor. “Dispatch
for him” he said to his wife. Mrs. Bangs had a horror for fevers,
especially when they were confined to everybody; at the present time
she considered herself out of the reach of it, and no amount of
persuasion could induce her to return, but her husband had grown tired
and restless and was determined to go home, but let her remain until
the fever had taken its departure, hence the dispatch. On the second
day he was well enough to converse with Charles on business affairs,
and that over, he expressed the wish that Charles would take him home.
Charles mentioned it to Mrs. Bangs; it did not meet her approbation.
“You should have opposed it entirely,” she said, in a firm tone. “But
why so, Mrs. Bangs, if he desires to return, I think he should.” “Not
while the fever lingers there; were he to take it and die I should
never forgive myself.” Charles had no fear of the fever for himself,
and did not fear it for his friend; he intimated as much, “it is not
the fever that will hurt him, Mrs. Bangs.” “You have no right to say
that. Mrs. Brewster, a month ago, would have said that she did not
fear it for Mary Ann, and now she is dying, or dead, you confess you
did not think that she could last more than a day or two when you
left.” “I certainly did not,” said Charles. “She looked fearfully
ill and emaciated, but that has nothing to do with Mr. Bangs.” “I
cannot conceive how you could be so imprudent as to venture into her
sick-room,” cried Mrs. Bangs, “indeed that you went to the house at
all while the fever was in it.” “There could be no risk in my going
into her room, nothing is the matter with her now but debility.” “We
cannot tell, Mr. Taylor, when risk ends or when it begins; had not so
many hours elapsed before you came here I should feel afraid of you.”
Charles smiled. But he wished he had said nothing of his visit to the
sick-room, for he was one of those who observe strict consideration
for the feelings and prejudices of others; there was no help for it
now. “It is not I that shall be returning to Bellville yet,” said Mrs.
Bangs, “the sickly old place must give proof of its renewed health
first; you will not get either me nor Mr. Bangs there for quite a
while.”
“What does the doctor think of the fever, that it will linger long?”
“On the night I came away he told me he believed it was going at last.
I hope he will prove right.”
Charles Taylor spoke to his partner of his marriage arrangements. He
had received a letter from Mary the morning after he left, in which she
agreed to the proposal that Janey should be her temporary guest. This
removed all barriers to the immediate union. “But, Charles, suppose
Mary Ann should die,” observed Mr. Bangs. This conversation was taking
place on the day previous to their leaving Waterville, where Charles
had now been three days. “In that case, I suppose it will have to be
postponed,” he replied, “but I hope for better news. That she is not
dead yet is certain, or they would have written to me, and in such
cases, if a patient can pull through the first debility, recovery may
be possible.” “Have you heard from Janey?” “No. I have written to her
twice, but in each letter I told her I would soon be home; therefore,
most likely she did not write, thinking it would miss me. Had the worst
happened, they would have written to me at all events.” “So you will
marry soon, if she lives?” “Very soon.” “I hope that God will bless
you both,” cried the invalid. “She will be a wife in a thousand.”
Charles thought she would, but did not say so. “I wish I had never left
Bellville,” he said, turning his haggard, but still fine blue eyes upon
his friend. Charles was silent. None had regretted the departure more
than he. “I wish I could go back to it to die.” “My dear friend, I hope
you may live many years to bless us. If you can get through the winter,
and I see no reason why you should not, with care, you may regain your
strength and be as well as ever.” The invalid shook his head. “It will
never be.” While they were thus engaged a servant called Charles from
the room. A telegram had arrived for him at the station, and a boy had
brought it over. A conviction of what it contained flashed over Charles
Taylor’s heart as he opened it; the death of Mary Ann Brewster. From
Mrs. Brewster it proved to be, not much more satisfactory than Mrs.
Bangs, for if hers was unexplanatory this was incoherent. “The breath
has just left my daughter’s body. Mrs. Brewster.” Charles returned to
the room, his mind full; in the midst of his sorrow and regret for
Mary Ann, his compassion for her mother, and he did really feel sorry,
intruded the thoughts of his marriage; it must be postponed now. “What
did he want with you,” asked Mr. Bangs when Charles returned to him.
“He brought me a telegram from Bellville.” “A business message?” “No,
sir; from Mrs. Brewster.” By the tone of his voice, by the falling of
his countenance, he could read what had occurred, but he kept silent,
waiting for him to speak. “Poor Mary Ann is gone.” “It will make a
delay in your plans, Charles,” said Mr. Bangs sorrowfully, after some
minutes had been given to expressions of regret. “It will, sir.” The
invalid leaned back in his chair, and said in a low voice, “I shall not
be long after her, I feel that I shall not.”
Very early indeed did they start in the morning, long before daybreak.
They would reach Bellville at twelve at night, all things being well;
a weary day, a long one at any rate, and the train steamed into
Bellville. The clock was striking twelve. Mr. Bangs’ carriage stood
waiting. A few minutes was spent in collecting baggage. “Shall I give
you a seat as far as the bank, Mr. Taylor?” inquired Mr. Bangs. “Thank
you; no I shall just go for a minute’s call on Mrs. Brewster.” Mr.
Davis who was in the station getting mail heard the words, he turned
hastily, caught Charles by the hand and drew him aside. “Are you
aware of what has happened?” “Yes,” replied Charles, “Mrs. Brewster
telegraphed to me last night.” Mr. Davis pressed his hand and moved on,
Charles taking the road that would lead him to Mrs. Brewster’s house.
It is now ten days since he was there, the house looked precisely as it
did then, all in darkness, except the dull light that burned from Mary
Ann’s sick room; it burnt there still; then it was lighting the living;
now--Charles Taylor rang the bell gently, does any one like to go with
a fierce peal to a house where death is an inmate? Eliza opened the
door as usual and burst into tears when she saw who it was. “I said
it would bring you back, sir!” she exclaimed. “Does Mrs. Brewster bear
it pretty well,” he asked, as she showed him into the drawing-room.
“No, sir; not over well,” sobbed the girl. “I’ll tell the mistress that
you are here.” He stood over the fire as he had done before, it was
low now like it was then, strangely still seemed the house, he could
almost have told that one was lying dead in it, he listened waiting
for the step of Janey, hoping that she would be the first to meet him.
Eliza returned. “My mistress says, would you be kind enough to come
to her.” Charles followed her upstairs, she went to the room where he
had been taken the other time, Mary Ann’s room, in reality the room
of Mrs. Brewster; but it had been given to Mary Ann for her sickness.
Eliza with soft tread crossed the corridor to the door and opened it.
Was she going to show him into the presence of the dead. He thought
she must have mistaken Mrs. Brewster’s orders and he hesitated on the
threshhold. “Where is Miss Janey,” he whispered. “Who, sir;” “Miss
Janey, is she well?” The girl stared at him, flung the door wide open
and gave a loud cry as she flew down the stairs. He looked after her in
amazement, had she gone mad, then he turned and walked into the room
with a hesitating step. Mrs. Brewster was coming forward to meet him,
she was convulsed with grief, he took both her hands in his with a
soothing gesture, essaying a word of comfort, not of inquiry why she
should have brought him to this room, he glanced at the bed expecting
to see the corpse upon it; but the bed was empty and at that moment his
eyes caught another sight.
Seated by the fire in an invalid chair surrounded by pillows covered
with shawls, with a wan, attenuated face and eyes that seemed to have
a glaze over them was--who? Mary Ann? It certainly was Mary Ann, in
life yet, for she feebly held out her hand in welcome, and the tears
suddenly gushed from her eyes, “I am getting better, Mr. Taylor.”
Charles Taylor--how shall I write it, for one minute he was blind
to what it could all mean, his whole mind was a chaos of astonished
perplexity, and then when the dreadful truth burst upon him he
staggered against the wall with a wailing cry of agony, it was Janey
who had died. Charles Taylor leaned against the wall in his shock
of agony; it was one of those moments that can come only once in a
life-time, in many lives never, when the greatest of earthly misery
bursts upon the startled spirit, shattering it for all time. Were
Charles Taylor to live a hundred years he could never know another
moment like this, the power so to feel would have left him. It had not
left him yet; it had scarcely come to him in its full realization;
at present he was half stunned. Strange as it may seem, the first
impression upon his mind was that he was so much nearer the next world.
How am I to define this nearness? It was not that he was nearer to it
by time or in goodness; nothing of that.